


Territorial

by KingWatney



Category: DC Animated Universe, Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 20:43:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6393121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingWatney/pseuds/KingWatney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Flash is away, the Rogues step up to defend Central City.  Because we can't have a bunch of outsiders wrecking the shopping mall, can we?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Territorial

**Author's Note:**

> Much as I enjoy comics Flash and CW Flash, I have a soft-spot for the little bit we got to see of the Rogues in the "Flash and Substance" episode of Justice League Unlimited. The idea of Captain Cold being married and dealing with ulcers is kind of hilarious, and I loved how Flash interacted with them. So this is starring the JLU versions of the Rogues, which means Len has a wife (hey, why not?), and Trickster is somewhat goofier than he is in the comics (but also waaaaaaaay nicer than he is on CW.) I don't think we really got to see Hartley in that episode, besides a cameo, so I'm going with the "social activist" characterization. There's the tiniest hint of Pipster in here, if you squint.
> 
> Also slipped a line from "Mean Girls" in here. Like you do.

In Central City’s industrial district, in an abandoned warehouse that served as one of the Rogues’ many safe-houses, an empty beer can bounced off a TV screen.

“What the heck, ref?” snarled Leonard Snart, generally known as Captain Cold when he donned his glasses and parka, “Are you blind? Or stupid? Or blind and stupid? "

“See, this is why you have an ulcer,” murmured Hartley, not looking up from his work.

“Hey, are you ready yet?” Len paused his rant, turning to the nearby table. Hartley Rathaway (aka the Pied Piper), clad in his usual green tunic and cap, was carefully inspecting a sonic grenade. The tabletop that served as his work space was covered in loose screws, metal pieces and bits of wire.

“Almost, Len,” said Hartley. “Give me time to get it right, okay? You don’t want one of these things going off accidentally.”

“Fine, but we don’t have all day. We’ve got a real opportunity here,” Len insisted. The news had come through the underworld lines of gossip - several members of the Justice League, Flash included, were off in space dealing with some cosmic threat. Meanwhile, supporting League members were getting stretched thin dealing with the various crises that popped up anytime the League heavy-hitters were off-planet. It was a very good time for an opportunistic criminal to go on a robbery spree. If they avoided casualties and kept property damage to a minimum, the League would treat them as a low priority threat. So of course Len had come to him with plans to hit up Central Bank.

“It’s not every day we get Flash out of our hair for a while,” Len was continuing, now pacing impatiently. “All that money’s just sitting there at Central, and my wife wants to remodel the kitchen. So let’s get a move on.”

“It’s not about money, it’s about fighting the system,” Hartley felt the need to interject. As the Pied Piper, he targeted corrupt corporations and wealthy CEO’s who profited off the exploitation of their workers, and distributed much of his loot to the needy. “There are safety deposit boxes in there with evidence of insider trading and bribery by several major companies, and once I bring evidence to the media, I’ll expose their – "

“Oh my God, shut up!” Len groaned. “We get it, you hate capitalism. Can’t you just steal money and spend it like the rest of us?”

“I’m fighting for a cause,” Hartley insisted, arms folded. “And stopping corporate greed will help all of us in the long run.”

“Only thing I’m worried about right now is my greed,” said Len, pulling on his parka. “You ready to go?”

“Yep.” Hartley stood up, tucking sonic grenades and his flute into his tunic.

Before either of the Rogues could leave, however, a noise from the TV caught their attention.

“-interrupt our game coverage for an emergency broadcast.” On screen, one of the local news anchors was looking tense. “A hostage situation has developed at Central’s Mid-town Mall, involving dozens of shoppers and our own reporter, Linda Park.”

“Hostages, huh?” Len looked grim. “That doesn’t sound like one of us.” The Rogues usually tried to avoid civilian casualties in their work, Len claiming that it brought “too much heat,” down on all of them. Some of the Rogues could be a little careless about bystanders when attacking Flash, but they all still tried to follow the “rules” that Cold insisted on.

“-costumed criminals known as the Royal Flush Gang are threatening to detonate a bomb if their demands are not met,” the anchor was continuing. “Our station’s Linda Park is there at the scene and – wait…” The anchor paused and raised a hand to his earpiece, his face paling. “I’m receiving instructions that we should switch our feed over to the camera on site, just a moment….”

The broadcast cut over to reveal an oddly dressed man pointing at the camera, one finger glowing with heat.

“-just keep filming, you understand me? Keep filming and you might walk out of here alive,” the man was threatening. Behind him, the Rogues could see the frightened faces of hostages, who were huddled in rows in front of Hot Topic, Macys, Barnes and Noble and the Big Score sports bar. Three figures in black and white costumes, each marked with a heart, diamond or spade were strolling up and down the rows, holding what appeared to be fairly advanced laser rifles. Directly behind the man, though, was Linda Park, with a gag over her mouth and her wrists cuffed to a rather large bomb. She was pulling at the restraints, making muffled, angry noises.

“We’re on the air,” came a nervous voice from behind the camera.

“What? You’re supposed to tell me when we’re – no, never mind! Listen up, Central City! Especially members of the Central City police department and local government! We are the Royal Flush Gang, and we’re here with a little game of winner takes all! You’re going to empty out Central Bank, and you’re going to bring every dime of it here.”

The man speaking had a black goatee, and was wearing a metal head-piece marked with a club and a long red coat. He summoned fire into his hand with what appeared to be Meta-human talent, and let it float menacingly above his palm. It was King, Hartley realized, from the original gang. Most of the others were dead or in prison, so King must have gathered some new recruits. And probably non-meta, since they were carrying weapons.

“Not Central Bank! That’s our score!” Len snapped, glaring at the TV. “I knew we should’ve gotten a move on.”

Hartley frowned at the screen, one hand nervously twisting around a lock of his long red hair. He was a little annoyed at the disruption to their plans, but mostly concerned about the dozens of hostages, all far too close to a massive bomb. All those people, and Flash off-planet playing Star Trek or something. Even the League second-stringers were off dealing with an earthquake in China, and Poison Ivy turning Gotham into an over-grown jungle. There was no one left to keep people from dying if the gang’s demands weren’t met.

“Obviously, if any police officers take one step into the building, we’ll start shooting hostages,” the man continued. “And if the Flash happens to show up, well….” King reached back and brought the flame close to Linda’s face. She froze, eyes wide and locked on the fire. “We’ve got his little girlfriend, and she’ll be the first to go. And it won’t be pretty."

Hartley could see Len clenching his fists, scowling. Len wasn’t fond of killing civilians, but even less fond of harming women or children. He made his usual excuse about how it brought too much trouble down on their heads, but Hartley suspected it had more to do with Len’s protectiveness of his wife and sister. Of course, Lisa, the costumed criminal known as the Golden Glider, was more than capable of taking care of herself, but anyone who harmed her would likely find themselves frozen in ice and shoved off a very tall building.

“This isn’t right,” Len was grumbling to himself. “This isn’t how we do things, not in Central City. Bunch of stupid punk wannabes…”

On screen, King was continuing his speech. Apparently the bomb would go off in one hour if the gang’s demands weren’t met, taking out most of the mall, and all the hostages with it. Hartley heaved a sigh. He was going to have to do something about this, he realized. His conscience wouldn’t let him stand-by and do nothing. But that meant bowing out of the bank job, and Cold wouldn’t be happy about him playing hero -

Hartley’s thoughts were interrupted by another beer can bouncing off the TV screen.

“How dare they!” Len snarled. “They come into our city, and try to blow up our mall! They’re not Rogues, they’ve got no right. We actually live here! We actually shop at that mall!” It was true, although they all went out of costume and incognito. The Big Score sports bar was a group favorite, when they wanted to get away from the villain bar that they all frequented.

“Forget the bank job, we’ve gotta do something about this,” Len said, turning abruptly to Hartley. Hartley blinked. This was the last thing he had expected to hear from Leonard Snart.

“You want us to…what, save the day? Like the Justice League?” It was exactly what Hartley was hoping to do, but he couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of Cold’s mouth. He wondered for a moment if he was dealing with a clever shape-shifter. Or an alternate Len from a parallel Earth? Brainwashing? All things were possible in Central City.

“No, not like the Justice League,” Len said. “Like Rogues. Rogues who don’t want any second-string outsiders messing up our town. I am going to beat the crap out of that asshole threatening to blow up my second-favorite bar."

“I’m with you on that,” Hartley said. “But we have to be careful here. There’s a bomb, and lots of hostages. You know if we intervene, and this goes badly, they’ll blame us as much as King. Assuming we haven’t been blown into tiny pieces."

“You think you can defuse that bomb, Piper?” Len pointed at the screen. “You’re supposed to be one of the smart ones.” Len himself was actually pretty smart, despite his “blue-collar criminal” attitude - he planned complicated heists and was constantly modifying his cold gun. But he wasn’t really a bomb expert.

“I…..don’t think so. Bombs aren’t my forte. I guess I could use sound waves to levitate it out of the building, once we get that reporter detached.”

Len stood for a moment with his head down, clearly thinking it over.

“Jesse could defuse it, couldn’t he? He knows explosives. Call him up. Tell him he’s got to put his serious face on. You’re good at dealing with him anyway."

It was generally known among the Rogues that James Jesse, aka the Trickster, with his outlandish fashion sense and ridiculous plans, was not quite all there. But beneath his hyperactive and childish exterior lurked the mind of a brilliant engineer. Even with no real formal education (not much chance to go to school when you grow up as part of a traveling circus), he’d taught himself enough science to make teddy-bear bombs, silly putty that could engulf and trap the Flash, and a pair of shoes that used a compressed-air system to allow him to float. It was one of the reasons Len was willing to tolerate his quirkiness and odd non-sequiturs. Hartley, on the other hand, rather enjoyed James’s strange but pleasant company, and tried to steer him away from really dangerous stunts.

“James is uh….” Hartley hesitated. Since his last encounter with the Flash, James was taking a stab at reforming, something Hartley wanted to encourage. But he couldn’t exactly tell Len that. “…he’s trying to lie low for a while.”

“So? Bribe him was a bag of Skittles or something. Tell him they’re gonna blow up the Cinnabon. He’s the only bomb expert we’ve got right now, everyone else is either locked up or off God knows where.” It was a dire situation indeed if Cold was actually asking for the Trickster to be brought in on a job. But Len was probably right. They did need him. Hartley pulled out his cell.

“Hey Hartley, have you seen this thing on the news?” James exclaimed as soon as he picked up, without so much as a greeting. “This is crazy! Flash is up in space, right? How’s he gonna get back from space in 52 minutes? He’s fast, but he’s not that fast! And I don’t think you can really run in space, it’s like a vacuum or something – "

“Flash isn’t going to fix this, James, we are,” Hartley cut him off. “You’re looking at the bomb, right? Do you think you can defuse it?”

“We? We as in who? You? Us? What are you talking about?”

Then James’s brain seemed to register the rest of what Hartley had said. “Oh yeah, I can defuse that,” he continued, with a touch of professional pride. “It’s not even that well made. I thought the Royal Flush gang was supposed to be better than that.”

“It’s not the original gang, it’s just King and a few goons. It’s not that big a threat, but most of the League is occupied right now, so Cold and I are going to go take care of this,” Hartley said. “I’m sorry to ask this, but, can you suit up and help us out? We need someone to defuse that bomb.”

“Hart…I dunno. I mean, you know I’d help you with anything, but I promised Flash I’d stay out of the suit for a while. He was pretty nice the last time he talked to me. We played darts!”

“This is different, James. We’re not committing a crime, we’re stopping one. We’re protecting Central City while the Flash is away. I think he’d understand.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. A lot of people are going to die if we don’t do something, James.” Despite his love of explosives, Trickster tended to be one of the less violent Rogues. Sometimes he got wildly carried away setting up elaborate death-traps for the Flash (something all the Rogues had done at one point or another), but he used abandoned buildings and kept it away from civilians. Even the teddy-bear bombs were just packed with confetti.

“Hey, Trickster!” Len yelled over Hartley’s shoulder. “Quit watching cartoons and come help us, you lazy-ass! Hartley’ll buy you one of those giant gummy-bears or something.”

“Okay Hart, I guess you’re right,” said James. “I mean, we can’t let ‘em blow up the Big Score. Not on Taco Tuesday!”

“Thanks James, we’ll owe you one. Suit up and get ready. We’ll be at your place in five.” Hartley stuck his phone back into a hidden pocket in his tunic. He had a ton of hidden pockets, which somehow allowed him to carry an arsenal without any unsightly bulges on his form-fitting outfit. (Trickster managed the same thing, only with even more stuff. His costume was like a clown-car of gadgets.)

“Let’s go be heroes,” Hartley smirked at Len. He couldn’t believe they were really doing this, but he was delighted. For once he’d be doing something that Central City recognized as heroic, instead of being branded as a criminal (although admittedly most of his activities were, in fact, illegal). He couldn’t believe Cold was actually leading the charge on this. Maybe he was seeing another side to Leonard Snart.

“We’re not heroes,” Len said. “We’re criminals who are going to deliver a well-deserved ass-kicking to the out-of-towners trying to start something in our city.”  
Or maybe he was just territorial. 

 

For a viewer watching at home, the live newscast from the mall remained quiet for several nerve-wracking minutes. King was using Linda’s cell to talk with an FBI negotiator, while the bomb continued to count-down ominously in the background. As King paced about, Linda slowly worked the gag off her mouth.

“Keep filming, Marla!” She called over towards the camera, appearing to look directly at the viewer. “No matter what happens, just keep filming!”

“I want a raise, Linda,” came a voice from off-screen, apparently behind the camera.

Then, things started to happen.

“Hey!” called a voice from off-camera, this time off to the side. The view swiveled over, to show a trio of costumed figures emerging from Barnes and Noble – Captain Cold in his fur-lined parka, Pied Piper in his green tunic and leggings, and the Trickster in his garish striped and polka-dotted body-suit, his hair hi-lighted with spray-in pink dye.

“You got about 10 seconds to pack up and get out of town, or you’ll answer to the Rogues,” Cold said, grinning as he brandished his cold gun. “Oh, who am I kidding? We’re gonna beat the snot out of you anyway.”

“So much for the element of surprise,” Piper sighed as the three card-themed henchmen moved in to attack. Several things happened at once, rather quickly.

The spade-marked henchman took aim at the group, and was immediately flung back by a blast of pure sound, as Piper’s flute sent him flying through the window of Hot Topic. The man struggled to his feet for a moment, then collapsed in a pile of Star Wars merchandise. The heart-marked henchman barely had time to raise his weapon before he found it frozen to his hands, encased in a block of ice. Cold aimed the gun at his feet, and the henchman toppled to the ground.

As the diamond-marked henchman aimed his laser rifle, Trickster jumped up into the air, and appeared to push off of nothing as he leaped forward, cackling wildly. As he flipped nimbly over Diamond, he flicked his wrist and sent a yo-yo slamming into the henchman’s forehead. Diamond stood for a moment, with a dazed expression that could best be described as, “Did he really just hit me with a yo-yo?” Then he fell over unconscious.

“Oh, what the hell?!” yelled King. “Are you people crazy, there’s a bomb over here!” He aimed a blast of fire at Cold, who countered with the stream of ice. The two elements met each other in the middle, and for a few moments there was a fairly spectacular display of fire vs. ice.

“He just said there’s a bomb! Maybe show a little restraint!” Linda called out. “Hey Marla, you’re getting this, right?”

“25% raise, Linda!” shouted the voice from behind the camera. “And hazard pay!”

Off to the side, the hostages began scattering in all directions, taking the opportunity to run for their lives. The stampede slowed as Piper began to play a soft, gentle melody, and the fear began draining out of the crowd. Keeping his flute directed at the crowd, he beckoned at them to follow him, through Barnes and Noble and out to safety.

“You know, I could have just done this to the Royal Flush gang,” Piper paused for a moment to yell at Cold.

“I told you, we’re doing this with force! We’re not putting them to sleep like a bunch of nannies! They deserve a beating!” Cold shouted back, still firing ice at King.

“Yes, but you see…the bomb,” Linda protested, looking somewhat disappointed with the safety precautions (or lack therefore) of her “rescuers.”

The fight shifted as Cold suddenly threw himself to the ground, letting King’s fire bolt pass over him (setting Macy’s new spring collection ablaze) and iced King’s feet. King slipped and flailed for a moment, before landing hard on his back. He immediately used another bolt to unthaw his feet, but in a second Cold was on him, tackling him off camera. The camera started to follow them, then swung back as Trickster was now putting pulling at the wires on the side of the bomb.

“Um…you do know what you’re doing, right?” Linda asked.

“No worries,” Trickster said, giving her a cheerful thumbs-up that perhaps wasn’t very reassuring coming from a man dressed like a horrible accident in a fabric store. “Blue then yellow, green and red, get it right or you’ll be dead,” he sang to himself as he snipped the colored wires.

Off camera, the sound of Cold and King’s fight continued, with cursing, punches, and the sound of shattering glass. The sprinkler system had gone off over in Macy’s, leaving several racks of new spring dresses charred and soggy. The bomb counter suddenly switched off, and Linda’s shoulders sagged in relief.

With the immediate threat of being blown sky-high taken care of, the camera swung back over towards the King/Cold fight. Marla apparently knew what would get the news station the highest ratings. Cold was on the ground, his parka visibly singed, rolling out of the way as King shot fire bolts down at him from the second level. Cold fired back as he rolled, managing to trap King’s left arm in ice.

“Is that the best you can do?” Cold sneered. “I know a guy who’s much better with fire, and he doesn’t even have any meta-talents.”

King burned the ice off his arm with an angry growl, only to find himself slipping as the safety railing he was perched on turned slick under his feet.

“Don’t you have any other tricks?” King snapped. He twisted in mid-air as he fell off the railing, and managed to land on his feet on the first floor, only to discover that was iced over as well.

“Gah!” The meta-human landed hard on his stomach.

“I don’t need any other tricks,” said Cold, freezing King’s hands and feet to the floor.

“You know this won’t hold me.” Already the ice was melting away.

“I know,” Cold said. And then he kicked King in the face. The meta-human went limp, but Cold continued delivering kicks to his chest and stomach.

“And that’s why! You stay out! Of Central! City!”

“Enough, Cold,” Piper re-emerged from Barnes and Noble. “The hostages are all evacuated. The police are busy dealing with them, but we should leave before they actually come in here and start doing their jobs.”

“Right.” Cold gave King one last kick. “You just remember that!” he growled at the unconscious man.

The camera followed Cold and Piper back towards the now defused bomb. Linda was out of handcuffs, rubbing her wrists as the Trickster talked to her.

“Listen, you’re Flash’s girlfriend, right? You gotta let him know, this isn’t really…I mean, I didn’t really mean to go back to….I mean this isn’t what it looks like. I’m just helping out my buddies, okay?” Trickster was twisting one end of his cape nervously.

“You can tell him yourself. We’re broadcasting live.” Linda pointed at the camera. Trickster looked over, eyes wide.

“Whoa, we’re on TV?” His nervousness suddenly gone, Trickster grinned, throwing his cape out dramatically.

“Hellooooooo, Central City!” He tossed something in the air, which popped and showered him and Linda with brightly-colored confetti. Linda, apparently in her element, seemed completely unfazed by the confetti rain. She pulled at microphone out of her jacket.

“Why don’t you tell our viewers at home why three of Central City’s most notorious criminals decided to intervene in this crisis?” Linda’s voice was now calm and professional, in full newscaster mode.

“Oh gosh, am I notorious? That’s so good to hear!” Trickster put his hands up to his cheeks, blushing.

“We’re just doing our civic duty,” Piper said, and Linda turned the microphone to him. “You may call us criminals, but we take care of this city in our own way. And let me add, the worst crimes are happening right under our noses because of greed and poor regulatory standards. Several companies in this very mall are complicit in human rights violations –“

“Give me that!” Cold snatched the microphone out of Linda’s hand. Piper folded his arms, clearly annoyed to be cut off. Cold turned to address the camera.

“Okay, listen up. This wasn’t about good deeds, this was about turf, understand? Central City is Rogue territory, and we’re not gonna let some outsiders wreck the place.”

“Yeah, they don’t even go here!” Trickster added.

“This is a message to any third-rate crook out there who thinks that this town is easy-pickings when the Flash is away. This is our city. You come here, you answer to us!” Cold tossed the mike down and started to walk away.

“C’mon Piper. There’s still time for that, uh…..” Cold looked at the camera, then back at Piper. “For that golf game we were talking about before. You know.”

“Sure.” Piper smiled conspiratorially. “I’d love a round of golf."

“Well, I’m gonna go have an ice-cream sundae,” Trickster declared. “I think I’ve earned it.”

“Remember to take the suit off first,” Piper said, reaching out to pat him gently on the cheek.

“Right, the suit,” Trickster said, with a slightly dazed grin. He put his hand up to where Piper had touched him, blushing again.

“C’mon, lets book it out of here,” Cold insisted, and the three Rogues ran off, presumably towards the least guarded exit.

Linda watched them go, then turned and grinned at the camera.

“Hey Marla, I think that was Emmy material, don’t you?”

“Still on the air, Linda.”

 

“See, this just shows that I have the best bad guys ever,” Flash said, gesturing at the monitor. They were watching the taped broadcast on the Watchtower, several hours later.

“Sorry we didn’t make it over to Central in time to take care of this,” said Black Canary, who had been one of the earth-bound Leaguers while the rest of the group was fighting a giant tentacle monster in space. (Flash privately referred to the mission as “Cthulhu-trek.”) “We were putting out fires all over the place.”

“It’s okay. It all got taken care of. Because again, my rogues gallery is the best.” Although he couldn’t help feeling guilty that Linda had been in danger. They’d only been on two dates, and already she was getting hand-cuffed to giant bombs. But she’d seemed to roll with it pretty well. He owed her a very fancy dinner at a very nice restaurant.

“Pied Piper and Captain Cold stole five million dollars from Central Bank just fifteen minutes after the fight at the mall,” Batman pointed out.

“Yeah, well….they are still criminals. They’re just criminals with standards.” Batman gave Flash one of those long, inscrutable looks. Wally wasn’t entirely sure what was going on under the cowl, but he guessed it was mild disapproval.

“I’ll go after them, okay, I’ll get the money back,” Flash promised. And he did intend to retrieve the money. But he might be willing to look the other way and let a couple of his Rogues escape capture. Just this once.


End file.
